


A Shot of Courage

by notboldly



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Christmas, Friendship, Impotence (due to alcohol), Intoxication, M/M, PWP, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-05 11:58:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notboldly/pseuds/notboldly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Enterprise’s unofficial chaperone, Spock was familiar with the human tendency towards intoxication. However, he had not expected Kirk to be susceptible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Shot of Courage

From the anonymity of an unlit corner, Spock watched as occupants of the rec room danced themselves into a drunken oblivion, and he wished he were somewhere else. It was illogical, he knew; as a grown man capable of making and enforcing his own choices, there was no reason for him to be spending his spare time, brief as it was, somewhere he did not want to be, drinking something he did not find palatable, and watching something he did not enjoy. There was no reason for him to remain there for hours, nursing his single drink of unfamiliar alcohol as he processed the comings and goings of members of the crew of the _Enterprise_ like a familiar experiment. There was certainly no reason for him to do so after numerous party goers had spilt their drinks on him or brushed against him with untidy, inebriated thoughts swarming against his mind. No reason, except that he was doing his duty, such as he had come to define it.

Although he was somewhat reluctant to admit it, after four years in space with the young crew of the _Enterprise_ , Spock had gone from being merely a science officer and the second-in-command of the revered starship to being a science officer, the second-in-command, and the lone chaperone at all of the ship’s parties. It was not intentional; rather, it had begun with the first New Year’s party that the Captain had insisted on dragging him to as a guest, and it had continued as he watched most of his shipmates wallow in alcohol soured by flavors that a human sense of taste could not detect. The Captain—very aware of his status as the leader of the motley bunch—had done little more than nurse a single, reasonably sized drink and converse at length with Spock about illogical human subjects. Spock had considered that first party to be somewhat unnecessary and wholly wasteful, an idea that was enforced when they were attacked by a Romulan warbird not three hours after the party had begun.

The second New Year’s party was better, but Spock knew it was not the event itself that kept him enthralled. Over the course of twelve months, the Captain had gone from being illogically human to impressively human, overcoming adversity in ways Spock would not have expected and barreling through obstacles like the unstoppable force he was rumored to be. Spock could admit to some admiration at the Captain’s somewhat unorthodox methods, and so, although the Captain was once again the reason for his reluctant attendance, this time Spock also accepted a beverage and the conversation flowed more freely.

The third New Year’s party was a disaster, but only to Spock. The members of the crew consumed alcohol in quantities unfitting of officers, as was their habit when they were not on active duty and as they had done for the previous two years. There was the occasional scuffle, but again, this was not unusual and it did not escalate (Spock had become very efficient at halting such activities when the security division was not readily available.) Much the same as the parties of the previous two years, Spock and the Captain settled themselves in a quiet corner and conversed softly while drinking their respective beverages, and—as much as he didn’t want to admit it—the friendship they had been nursing for the past twenty-four months began to blossom well and truly in the dim light.

Disaster, such as Spock labeled it, came in the form of Doctor Helen Noel, a member of the medical staff, and her asking the Captain to dance. Spock normally would not have minded—the Captain frequently danced with the female members of his crew when asked, and he danced in an entertaining fashion that Spock believed most people would term “bad”—but unlike the dances of before, the Captain did not return afterwards.

For the first time in three years, Spock was left sitting alone while the Captain left with a member of his crew; Spock could only speculate on the activities that took place thereafter, and for several weeks and many sessions of meditation, he believed his irrational annoyance with the events of that night were due to concerns of professionalism and an understanding of rank that the Captain clearly did not have. Several weeks, and then he saw the Captain cast an uneasy glance at Doctor Noel in the officer’s mess, and Spock felt vindicated, triumphant, at peace. He recognized, then, that the previous feeling had not been annoyance—it had been jealousy.

Evidently, the friendship he had begun with the Captain had progressed much further than he’d anticipated. Also evidently, the Captain did not feel the same, as they continued to share their quiet chess games and meals and frequent conversations without the barest pause or hint of unspoken words. Nonetheless, it was a simple relationship, fulfilling in a way that the romantic relationship he had once shared with Nyota was not, and he accepted the small gift without a word. If he sometimes had to force himself to maintain an air of professionalism in the face of Kirk’s more easy-going manner, he considered it only one more aspect of his duty: to make the Captain feel comfortable near him, and to make certain he did not suspect Spock’s long-denied feelings, no matter what the cost.

It worked, or Spock believed it had. Yet here he sat during the _Enterprise_ ’s fourth New Year’s party, nursing a foul drink while the Captain once again disappeared into the crowd. As was usual, the Captain’s motions were trailed with laughter and his antics appreciated, and—as Spock was starting to suspect was the usual—he did not return.

Spock glanced into his drink to avoid the gazes of those few crew members who saw him sitting alone, and he tried not to imagine who the Captain had chosen to spend the evening with instead of him.

“Commander Spock?”

Spock glanced up quickly, disguising surprise as he did so; he had not heard the young man approach.

“Yes, Ensign Chekov?”

“Sir, there appears to be a problem.”

Spock nodded and stood, grateful for the distraction he would never admit he needed.

“If you will lead the way to the disturbance, Ensign.”

Chekov did not move; if anything, he looked nervous.

“It’s not a disturbance really, sir. But the Captain…”

Spock was instantly alert as, he convinced himself, any First Officer should have been.

“What about the Captain?”

Chekov shuffled his feet, and then he sighed. Spock waited, but Chekov simply turned and began to walk through the slowly swaying crowd, clearly reluctant even as Spock followed him.

When they reached the corner bar, Spock could see why.

Kirk was lounging carelessly on the gleaming metal stool, his arms propping up a head that his motions suggested was too heavy to hold. He was making burbling noises as he breathed, and he looked half-asleep where he leaned quite heavily against the countertop, surrounded by thirteen empty glasses. One sniff of a gently cupped glass and Spock was certain that most if not all of the contents had been alcoholic in nature, and he glanced at Chekov, receiving a quick nod in return.

The Captain was drunk. No, that was not strictly accurate; the Captain had drunken himself into a stupor, perhaps even a coma, and it went far beyond mere intoxication.

Spock dismissed Chekov with a wave, and once he had disappeared into the crowd, Spock hesitantly placed one hand on Kirk’s nearest shoulder. There was concern in the gesture, something Spock was able to show readily since Kirk was too far gone to see it.

“Captain?” There was no response, and so Spock tried a second time, voice soft.

“Jim?”

Blue eyes opened and blinked at him, and then Spock found himself on the receiving end of a dazzling smile that nonetheless did not seem natural.

“Spock! Having a good time?”

Kirk made to gesture with a glass that Spock realized was still in his hand, and he was just barely able to prevent the motion from causing a serious accident. Despite his efforts, a single cup still crashed to the floor, and the distinct noise of shattering glass caused a hush to fall over the room.

Spock glanced at the crew coldly, reflexively, and they turned back to their party while he helped Kirk to regain his balance.

“Captain, you appear to have imbibed an excessive amount of alcohol.”

Kirk gestured wildly with the glass again, and Spock removed it deftly from his fingers before it could strike his face.

“Hey, Spock, hey—what happened to “Jim?” I like it when you call me that.”

Spock—having heard something to this effect on no less than forty-six occasions in the past year—acquiesced if only to keep Kirk from sliding off of his stool.

“Jim.” Kirk glanced up at him and smiled slightly; Spock forgot, momentarily, what he had meant to say.

“You are very drunk.”

Kirk shook his head rapidly, too rapidly, and Spock had to dart forward to catch him a second time.

“No, no, just a bit…tipsy. Is the room spinning?”

A familiar gaze looked up at him trustingly, and Spock wished he was able to move away at the same time that he wished he never had to. Such closeness was necessary, he told himself; Kirk would have fallen otherwise.

“No, Jim. Can you stand?”

Kirk glanced at the floor, and then he stared intently at Spock’s legs, the focus seeming at odds with his swaying form. When he looked up afterwards, his eyes were narrowed.

“Can _you_?”

Spock didn’t know how to respond so he simply shifted, body bracing while he dragged Kirk to his feet. Kirk didn’t protest, but he did laugh, and when Spock had one arm draped across his shoulders, Kirk leaned into him heavily.

“You always smell so clean, Spock.”

The voice was whisper soft; Spock knew it was not a comment Kirk had intended him to hear. Out of respect for Kirk’s privacy, Spock did not reply, merely shifting again so he could walk his drunken captain out of the rec room without incident.

********

The walk back to the Captain’s quarters was uneventful, but Spock knew this was in large part because the majority of the off-duty crew was either sleeping or at the party they had left behind. The journey itself took longer than it should have as Kirk stumbled multiple times, and each time he righted himself by clinging uncomfortably to Spock’s torso and—in one case—accidentally palming his backside.

Spock—certain the action was unintentional and possibly unnoticed—merely directed Kirk as best he was could to the officer’s deck, Kirk laughing the entire time and at such a volume that Spock was certain everyone sharing the deck could hear him. Curiously enough, once they were stationed outside the Captain’s quarters, Kirk fell eerily silent, and he stared at the posted sign in uncomprehending surprise.

“My quarters?”

“Yes Jim.”

“You came home with me?”

Spock failed to see the purpose of such a statement when he did in fact live in the adjoining cabin, and so he simply raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

Kirk, however, seemed to find some wished-for answer in the reaction and so he grinned, the expression blinding and enticing and longed for…to Spock, at least. Spock allowed his lips to tip upwards in a semblance of a smile as a response, and Kirk’s expression only became brighter as the air became warm with affection.

The doors to the Captain’s quarters slid open without sound, and Spock helped Kirk to take the necessary last steps until they became enclosed in the dimly-lit rooms. Spock felt the briefest flutter of relief that they had made it back to the private space without Kirk’s condition becoming common knowledge, and the emotion stayed long after Kirk had ceased to sway against him, wrapping fit arms gently around his waist.

Spock would have been content to remain that way for another instant or two, stealing these moments that Kirk was willingly sharing with him; however, not two seconds after the doors had once again closed, Spock felt Kirk press tighter to him while reaching up to his head with one hand. Spock was confused until Kirk brushed the tip of his ear with his fingers, and then he was alarmed.

“Do you like your ears, Spock?”

Spock hesitated for a fraction of a second, and when he answered, his voice was cautious.

“They are functional and adequate for my species.”

Kirk’s other hand left its perch at Spock’s lower back to gently touch his other ear. Spock closed his eyes and told himself that he clung to Kirk only to prevent him from falling.

“I like them, Spock. Very much.”

Kirk punctuated the statement with the rhythmic smoothing of his fingers, tracing the outline of each helix before brushing the lobe, and then lingering on tips flushed a shameful green from the reaction a Vulcan should not have had. In the stiff silence, Kirk pulled Spock’s head down the barest of inches and blew damp breath against the side of the nearest ear.

Spock shuddered and jerked back.

“Captain!”

Kirk stumbled at Spock’s withdrawal, and as much as Spock realized it was dangerous to remain so close to his Captain, always his Captain, he could not allow him to fall. His arms closed around Kirk’s shoulders, and instantly it was as if they had never parted. Kirk’s hands reached up again, but this time their aim was different: one landed on the barest curve of his brow, and the other at the base of his jaw, calmly petting the sensitive juncture.

“Call me by my name, Spock—I want to hear it.”

Spock’s will faltered for a moment, and he closed his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy the affection— _lust_ —that the touch conveyed.

“Jim.”

Kirk growled, and Spock’s eyes snapped open. He saw Kirk’s eyes darken and he quickly maneuvered them to lean against a wall. In an effort at distance, he released the compact body against him before catching Kirk’s wandering fingertips in his grasp. The tingle of thoughts between their fingers twisted like strands of broken yarn, gentle and soft, but there was one emotion that still lurched among them with all the delicacy of a speeding hovercraft.

Lust.

“Jim. We cannot do this. Your mind is not functioning at its normal efficiency, and you do not realize—”

Kirk pressed forward as he reflexively jerked his hands from Spock’s grasp, and Spock pressed back in order to keep Kirk balanced against the wall. Kirk whimpered, and Spock swallowed, the sound loud in his ears despite the flurried beating of his heart.

“ _Need_ , Spock. Don’t you ever need something, even when your mind won’t admit it?”

Spock closed his eyes again; he knew what Kirk meant, and his mind processed the situation, attempting to find a way to convince himself against accepting— _taking_ —something he so desperately wanted.

_He does not see me, he is only reacting as he did last year, I am just a body…_

The thoughts did not help.

“Jim, I am not certain—”

Kirk’s hands moved, reaching up to cup Spock’s cheek in a gentle, affectionate gesture that caused Spock’s skin to prickle, and his words to end abruptly. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the soft blue gaze of the man he would die for, the friend he cherished, and beneath it all, the soul that called out to his. If lust had been all there was, it would have been easy to deny; however, Spock was defenseless against such caring affection, and they both knew it.

“I _need_ , Spock. Please?”

 _This is inadvisable._ Nonetheless, Spock knew he would never be able to resist Kirk’s pleas, and so he nodded once, very slowly. Kirk let out a single breath against his neck, and then he tugged Spock’s head down, harshly causing their lips to meet. Kirk tasted of alcohol—foul and unwelcome—and the lingering flavor was bitter, as though to remind Spock that such displays were short-lived between them. Even so, when Kirk lapped at his lips, coaxing him into sharing something more intimate, into sharing a deeper taste, Spock welcomed it, and he catalogued it for as long as he was able, expecting he would not have another chance. When the reality became too much to analyze—the soft salt flavor of his cheek, the insistent stroke of his tongue, the gentle suck at his bottom lip—Spock surrendered only to the sensations.

Their kissing did not last long even though Spock could not have willingly ended it. Shortly after it had begun, the persistent touch of their lips had been accompanied by Kirk bucking against him, grinding their hips together desperately while his hands groped blindly; however, whereas Spock became aroused by the motions very quickly, Kirk…did not. Although his skin sang of lust, the physical reality was that Kirk was not aroused. Or not aroused by _him_ , in any case.

Spock would have pulled away because he saw no further purpose to their activities and because he was ashamed, but Kirk did so first, letting out a frustrated sound at something Spock could not fathom.

“Fine, _fine_. God dammit. Fucking alcohol.”

Spock did not understand the acid in his voice, but he did not question it. Instead, he stuck out a hand to keep Kirk balanced while he formed cool words, the reaction a mask to hide the fact that his erection had not diminished completely despite how quickly his heart had sank.

“Jim, I fear you may be more intoxicated than I had originally assessed. I do not think sleep would be wise.”

Kirk just glared at him, and Spock was mildly relieved to note that his gaze was slightly more focused than before.

“I didn’t want to _sleep_ , Spock, but I guess I don’t have a choice now.” Kirk groaned, placing a palm to his forehead.“Dammit, now I have a headache.”

Spock sympathized, but he was aware of just what sympathy had caused this night, and so he did nothing. Still, he was…concerned. As he did not have much experience with intoxicated individuals of any species, he did not know what would be best; however, tales of men dying in their sleep from alcohol poisoning made Spock take heed of the fact that Kirk did not meet his eyes, that his breathing was too rapid. He knew he could not simply leave Jim to rest.

“Perhaps, Jim, you would like to play chess?”

Kirk looked at him in startled amusement, and his laugh was as loud as before.

“No, but I’d love to lie down.”

Spock shook his head and repeated his previous pronouncement faintly.

“I do not know if that would be wise.”

Kirk just looked at him ruefully.

“I’m tired, Spock, and apparently too drunk to get it up. Times like this, a man needs to sleep.”

Spock did not fully understand, but he heard regret in Kirk’s voice that he did not want to linger, and so he nodded shortly.

“Very well.” Spock hesitated, but he knew his next words were necessary, if painful.“However, I will remain in case you need me.”

Kirk stared at him, the force of his surprise almost tangible from so close a distance.

“Really?”

“Indeed.”

In the following silence, Spock moved Kirk gently from the wall to his bed, careful to keep his actions professional even if his motives were anything but. Once he had settled Kirk on the firm mattress, Spock straightened and clasped his hands behind his back, eying the slumped form of his Captain with something he would not admit was longing.

“Please lie down and make yourself comfortable, and I will join you shortly. Do not fall asleep until I return.”

Kirk only nodded slightly, and Spock left without another word, hurrying to sickbay for the hangover remedy that he knew Kirk would need in the morning.

********

By the time Spock had returned from the quiet confines of sickbay, Kirk was already tucked underneath the covers of his bed, the clothes he had been wearing just minutes ago discarded in a careless heap at the edge of the mattress. Spock would have asked, politely, if he was comfortable, but Kirk was glaring heartily at the nearest bulkhead and he wisely chose not to speak in the face of what was—to him—irrational anger. After only a moment’s consideration, Spock also chose not to comment on the fact that Kirk was taking up almost the entirety of the already small bed, and—well aware of his own weaknesses—Spock settled himself on the barest edge of the mattress, fully clothed, and prepared to spend the night monitoring Kirk’s breathing.

As soon as the lights went out, Spock’s carefully chosen position on the far edge of the bed became irrelevant, as Kirk immediately rolled towards him, flopping an arm inelegantly across his blue-shirted waist. It didn’t seem like something Kirk would do unaware and Spock was flattered that his friend wanted to be close to him, even if he somewhat doubted how clear his motives were and his mind cried out for more than the friendly touches Kirk so often gave him.

His breath was quiet in the darkness, even and measured. It took more effort than it should have, and the effort required doubled as Kirk pressed closer to him, enough that Spock had no choice but to feel bare skin.

“You are still intoxicated.”

He felt Kirk shift again, bumping their elbows together slightly, the breath that fanned across his neck damp and cool.

“No, not really—I’ve always sobered up pretty fast in the past.”

There was a pause, and then a light chuckle.

“Past. Fast. Heh.”

Spock felt his lips twitch, and he was grateful for the cover of darkness.

“As I said, you are intoxicated.”

“Maybe.”

Kirk was obviously reluctant to concede the point even though they both knew the truth; Spock suspected it was pride and shame that jointly caused this, and it made him curious enough to ask for reasons when he probably shouldn’t have.

“Jim, what made you decide to become dangerously impaired this evening?”

The answer was silence and a feigned attempt at sleep. Spock touched him very lightly on the arm, a gesture intended to show that Kirk was under no obligation to answer.

Still, as he always did when faced with Spock’s gentle inquiries, Kirk answered no matter how personal the question.

“I just want so many things, Spock. But most of all, I want a very specific person to love me.”

Spock flinched; he had suspected something of this sort, but the truth of the matter was that knowing was much more painful than suspecting. Illogical.

“Doctor Noel?”

Kirk shook his head, rocking his forehead across Spock’s chest. Spock refused to admit that he was relieved; to be so close to something, only to have a fellow crew member—another scientist—be given what he wished for with all of his being would have been too painful to contemplate.

“No—she was just a substitute. Dark hair, dark eyes, thin. You know.”

“I do not.”

The description fit Spock as well, roughly, but as evidenced by the night’s events, Spock himself was not an acceptable substitute. He wondered if it would have been easier if he were.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. What I want doesn’t matter. Isn’t relevant.”

Spock carefully smoothed a hand down Kirk’s arm again, feeling the soft prickle of hair under his fingers and committing the sensation to memory. There were so many responses to that statement, and so many of them were inappropriate; he settled for the one he knew would be acceptable from a friend, a colleague, and a Vulcan.

“It is relevant to me, Jim.” A half-truth; it was the most important thing in the world to Spock at that moment.

“Okay.” Kirk sounded tired, and Spock knew he was drifting to sleep. As a result, his response was mumbled and barely audible.

“I want the sky. I want the stars. I want to wake up on Christmas morning with a tree and snow outside even though I want to be on the _Enterprise_ forever. I want to never let my crew down, and I want to be able to stand next to every other captain in the ‘fleet and not feel like a kid who snuck into a theater. I want to be the man everyone thinks I should be.”

Spock swallowed, the gesture harder than it should have been when confronted by wants that were nonsensical but poignant and a sense of despair that was so very strong. Was it any wonder that this man called to him, when his opinion of himself was so wrong? Spock knew that Kirk had often been seen as a person who was gifted with luck and little else, but he hadn’t believed Kirk felt that way himself. He was deserving, and good, and intelligent, and Spock felt pain at the knowledge that he couldn’t see that.

“You are that man, Jim.”

Kirk just ignored him, and Spock was aware of dampness on his shoulder where Kirk continued to breathe against his clothes and speak, almost to himself.

“But most of all, Spock…I want you to say “good morning” back to me when I say it on the bridge. Even when it’s illogical.”

It was such a small request, and Spock took note of it while Kirk’s breathing evened out and the hand thrown over his chest tightened its hold.

If nothing else, Spock promised them both, he could do this one small thing.

********

Although Spock fell asleep shortly after Kirk, the point of his staying was to ensure that Kirk was in good health come the morning; it was no surprise, then, that he woke instantly upon Kirk’s groan, and that his mind catalogued everything at the first fumbled shifting of a man trying to figure out what had happened.

Spock gave the command for lights at quarter percent to spare human eyes, and when the dim light increased enough to outline their features, he saw Kirk looking at him in open astonishment.

“ _Spock_?”

Spock had never heard him sound so alarmed, and he was aware of his back stiffening in preparation for a scathing comment to hide the pain. He did not get the chance to say it, however, as Kirk had turned away with another groan and began to lever himself—his _nude_ self—out of the bed. Spock looked away, and he missed the look Kirk shot him before stumbling quickly to their shared bathroom. Spock shifted, uncertain, and the silence was abruptly broken by the sound of the head being flushed, and then running water and the hurried scrape of a toothbrush.

Spock wondered if he should leave, or if that would only make Kirk’s obvious discomfort worse. It was a moot point, he decided finally; Starfleet regulations demanded that all non-prescribed medications be administered by a third party, and he was not so cruel that he wanted to leave Kirk feeling miserable even for a moment. So he waited.

When Kirk returned, it was with his body covered in a soft blue robe and his eyes still bleary and unfocused; Spock’s internal sense of time informed him that it was only 0523 hours on the _Enterprise_ , and that Kirk had had less than three hours of sleep.

Kirk answered his puzzled look while he flopped back down on the bed, and it showed that his mental facilities had returned at least enough to read his Vulcan friend.

“I never sleep well after I get drunk; nature’s way of punishing me, I think.”

Kirk glanced at Spock imploringly, and Spock knew he was attempting to figure out why he had been naked and Spock was not.

“What happened?”

Spock opened his mouth to provide an accurate if edited version of the night’s events, but Kirk held up his hand quickly.

“No, wait, I remember. I think.”

Spock waited, and he knew Kirk did indeed remember when a look of horror crossed over his face, followed closely by disgust and shame.

“Oh God. Oh my God, I got drunk and I-I _pawed_ at you!”

Spock raised an eyebrow, and he hoped to use his knowledge of humor, however limited, to erase the open revulsion from Kirk’s face.

“Yes, to put it mildly, Captain.”

It didn’t work; in fact, it seemed to make things worse.

“Oh God.” Kirk buried his face in his hands, and Spock was confused until Kirk looked back up at him with sorrowful eyes.

“If you wish to press charges, I completely understand, and I am so, so sorry, Spock.”

Spock’s voice was soft and understanding in light of what was, to him, a reasonable reaction for someone of Kirk’s well-hidden character. He had seen a similar reaction between Kirk and Doctor Noel not too long ago; Kirk, despite the rumors, had never attempted to compromise the integrity of his officers.

“There is no need for legal action; no harm was done.”

“Even so. I…Christ, my head hurts.”

Spock shifted, removing the hypo from the bedside table and carefully releasing the chemical into Kirk’s neck. The response was a soft sigh, and Spock leaned back, achingly aware that without alcohol in his system, Kirk would no longer want him so close.

“Thank you, Mister Spock, and I am sorry. I never meant to…well, I never meant to get drunk to that extent. It won’t happen again.”

Spock nodded in understanding, and in recollection of the drunken confession from just hours before that had nevertheless rang true, he spoke in return.

“I feel I should apologize as well, Captain.”

Kirk laughed, startled, and a hand tugged the neck of the robe closer together, a nervous gesture.

“You? What are _you_ sorry for?”

“I am sorry that I was not an acceptable substitute.”

This statement was followed by silence, long and drawn out, and when Spock looked up, certain that Kirk had not heard him, he saw Kirk looking at him in bafflement and something like anger.

“A _substitute_ , Spock? What the hell did I tell you last night?”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“Merely that you wanted love and did not have it.”

“And then I proceeded to jump all over you. Great, just great; some Casanova I am.”

Kirk snorted, and Spock did not correct the sequence of events in his mind. He was too distracted by what sounded like self-disgust in Kirk’s voice.

“Captain?”

“Please don’t call me Captain right now, Spock. Really.”

“I am sorry for causing you distress.”

“You always cause me distress.” Spock stiffened, and Kirk made an aborted motion to reach for him that turned into a gesture for “hold.” “Wait, no, I didn’t mean it like that. Just…Spock, who do you _think_ I’m in love with?”

“I assure you, I do not know.” He had been puzzling over such things for the fourteen minutes Kirk had been in the bathroom, and—despite all his knowledge of the individual crew members—he could not isolate any one person that Kirk would love and who would not love him in return.

Kirk just looked at him in pained amusement.

“I’ll give you a hint: he’s about six foot two, dark hair, dark eyes, kind of skinny, and he has the most beautiful logic I’ve ever seen.”

Spock was stunned, and he shook his head slowly.

“It cannot be me.”

“Says who? I understand if you don’t want it to be you, but I can’t very well let you go on thinking I thought you were some kind of stand-in.”

 _This is not logical_. There was a part of Spock that attempted to analyze the conversation and its implications, but a much larger part caused him to hit a wall each time he tried.

“I did not arouse you.”

Kirk shrugged, as if it didn’t matter, as if the sheer force of his love could overcome this basic fact.

“Not physically, no, but alcohol does that sometimes.”

“You desire me?”

“Yes.”

“You love me?”

Although Spock’s query had been hesitant, Kirk’s response was not.

“Yes.”

“You experience arousal for me?”

Kirk snorted, and gestured at the blue terry cloth covering his body.

“At the moment? Absolutely. Why did you think I got this robe?”

“This is…most unusual. You hid it very well.”

Kirk shrugged, but this time, the gesture was less certain, the motions speaking of a heavy burden.

“My life depended on it; I couldn’t lose you, Spock, not over something like that.” He paused and gave Spock an odd look. “By the way, you don’t sound terribly alarmed.”

Spock answered honestly; it was honesty long overdue.

“I have cultivated similar feelings for you for an estimated fourteen months.”

Kirk’s eyes went wide.

“‘Estimated?’”

“I am not able to isolate the particular day when such feelings surfaced.”

Although it was not the most passionate of love confessions, Spock’s statement spoke volumes, and Kirk swallowed visibly.

“Ah.”

The silence that followed was heavy and ripe with tension, but neither man moved. It was impossible, it seemed, for either of them to come to terms with the fact that their greatest dreams had been hiding behind a cloud, obscured—just barely—because they weren’t looking closely enough. When they finally dared to break the stillness around them, Spock was the first to move, quite possibly because his mind refused to admit that he was not dreaming until he felt warm skin under his palm.

Kirk seemed to understand the need for the gesture, and for Spock’s silence. He was the first to speak.

“Can I kiss you, Spock?”

The question was quiet, as if he doubted Spock’s answer, and Spock looked at him with soft eyes.

“You are not required to ask for permission.”

“I feel like I should. Last night…”

He looked sheepish, and Spock was surprised that it bothered him, but only momentarily; Kirk had a mind that was hard to predict, but his morals and motives were often clear and logical.

Spock imagined that it would have caused him pain also if the only time he had kissed Kirk was when he was under the influence of some outside substance.

“I am not bothered by the events of last night. I merely regret that you felt you required the aid of alcohol to approach me.”

Kirk snorted, his body going limp with relief.

“You and me both.”

Kirk leaned forward, reaching for him, and Spock quite calmly intercepted his hand before it could reach his face. The action which spoke of rejection quickly changed as Spock gripped his wrist and slid two fingers across his wide hand, circling the perimeter with two extended fingers.

Kirk responded with a similar gesture although his face remained confused.

“Spock?”

“A Vulcan kiss, Jim.” He continued to run their fingers together, and he felt a jolt as his mind instinctively reached out for the one so open to him.“It is used most often between those in a committed relationship.”

“Oh. It’s tingly.”

Kirk twined their hands together, suddenly, and Spock’s breath hitched.

“Indeed.”

They sat in silences for a moment, Spock simply watching as Kirk’s other hand reached up to massage his, and when he did, he shivered visibly.

“There’s something sexual about this, isn’t there? You’re getting all flustered.”

The statement was made with a grin, and Spock corrected him automatically.

“Vulcans do not get ‘flustered.’”

Kirk just continued to smile.

“My mistake.”

The touches continued, alternating between slow strokes over his palm and brisk twists around his fingers, and Spock—never having dared to ask for this with Nyota, his only past partner—found himself experiencing sensations that were unexpectedly intense.

When he moaned quietly, Kirk pulled his hand away quietly and cleared his throat.

“Lie back.”

The request was gentle.

“For what purpose?” Even as he asked the question, Spock complied, unable to deny such a simple request when Kirk meant so much to him.

“So I can show you that you do arouse me, always.”

Spock swallowed, and it was fortunate that he did; the moment Kirk touched his legs, pushing until his knees overlapped the edge of the bed, his mouth went dry. Spock—who had never understood the purpose of non-sexual touches during sexual activities—found himself marveling at the slow stroke of Kirk’s hands over the length of his body, slow and as appreciative as his gaze. It teased him how Kirk only touched his sides, circling occasionally around ribs and knees, but never touching him anywhere that a friend would not.

When Kirk leaned over him, body suspended just enough that Spock felt heat from his skin without touching, the seam of his robe parted, and Spock’s eyes darted down and then away. He felt…relief, then, at the knowledge that Kirk was indeed as aroused as he’d stated, that he had not claimed a condition to spare Spock’s unacknowledged feelings or force a reaction where there wasn’t one; as Kirk continued to hover above him, however, the relief changed to something like confusion.

“Jim?”

Kirk was just staring at him, but the sound of his name must have pulled him out of whatever place in his mind he was, and he grinned at Spock.

“Spock.”

Kirk pushed himself off of him then, and Spock would have been alarmed at what seemed like a sudden shift in their activities if he hadn’t felt the lightest of touches on his bare ankle—Kirk’s fingertips. Then, as if Kirk was the telepath and not he, the touch moved upwards, caressing cloth-covered legs and moving with smooth and welcome pressure to his waist. When his hands suddenly turned, both of them curving gently over the mound of his genitals, he felt more than saw Kirk grin.

“Well, _hello_ , Mister Spock!”

Spock made a choked sound that he would not admit was just short of laughter, and when Kirk calmly unfastened his pants, the sound was repeated for an entirely different reason. Spock was distracted from his analysis of the rampant emotionalism of the reaction, however, because the next instant, Kirk calmly slid his pants down his legs, leaving him only in briefs and his uniform shirt. Whatever he might have felt—embarrassment, eagerness, affection—was drowned by the thick appearance of lust as Kirk massaged his length through the remaining cloth, and Spock found himself bucking just slightly into the touch.

When Kirk paused to yank his briefs off as well, Spock cried out at the impact of cool air as well as the sudden exposure to the eyes of another.

“Jim!”

Kirk pushed his legs up gently, and the motion forced his legs to spread reflexively. He flushed, suddenly, as Kirk eyed his lower half, and the lust in his gaze when Spock’s penis twitched was incalculable but real. Then, he felt the lightest of touches at his entrance, a circling presence that was welcome, and Kirk’s head disappeared behind Spock’s raised legs.

He felt warm breath on his backside, and he jolted. Hands smoothed over his thighs calmly.

“Ssh, it’s okay. You’ll like this, I promise.”

The statement was followed by a long, slow press of tongue against his entrance, and Spock shuddered unexpectedly. Kirk was right; he _did_ like it, and the sensation only increased in intensity as the gentle laps of the strong muscle became piercing stabs that coiled his insides.

Spock shook his head frantically.

“That is not…you shouldn’t…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, he wasn’t sure he even knew what the sentence was supposed to be, and the hands on his trembling thighs continued to make soothing motions.

“Calm down; as if I don’t know that you take like four showers a day. Clean freak.”

It was said with affection, and underneath the lust, Spock knew that Kirk’s actions were the same. He relaxed, perhaps prematurely, and when Kirk continued his ministrations, Spock let the tingling, twisting feeling wash over him.

He needed…he _wanted_ …Kirk knew, and the soft wetness at his now-twitching hole was interrupted by a steadier pressure, a finger that dipped inside him to pump back and forth. The feeling of being penetrated was strange— _unnatural_ , his knowledge of anatomy insisted—but he was not concerned, as he knew Kirk was experienced in these matters. The thought caused the briefest flicker of jealousy, but Spock pushed it down; Kirk was here with him _now_ , and—as if to prove it to himself—Spock’s legs spread wider.

The action, unintended, caused the finger to go in more smoothly, and for Kirk to moan. Spock clenched reflexively, and Kirk suddenly leaned up, licking at his stomach while his penis leaked clear fluid.

When he looked at him, his eyes were dark, and the motions of his finger had not slowed.

“Spock…can I…?”

Spock was not certain what he was asking, but he nodded anyway, something he acknowledged as the correct response when Kirk closed his eyes, face openly pleased. If Spock had not been so certain that Vulcans could not become intoxicated by a mere sight, he would have suspected just that, and the feeling lingered even as the single digit inside him was joined by another.

Spock winced internally at the unexpected pinch, but he relaxed when the motions became smoother, slicked by something—he realized on reflection—that Kirk must have kept on hand.

The jealousy was stronger now, and the pleasurable sensation of a solid presence inside him did not diminish it this time.

Spock pulled his legs back, away, and Kirk’s face showed surprise, and the barest edge of pain.

“Spock?”

“I will not be another in a series of lovers, quickly forgotten.”

Kirk looked at him in confusion.

“No, you won’t be.” Kirk gestured with one hand, seemingly grasping for an answer in the open air.“I didn’t plan for this to be a…a one-shot thing.”

Spock relaxed minutely; Kirk would not lie to him, not about this. He was starting to suspect that Kirk would never lie to him at all.

“No?”

“ _No_.”

Spock swallowed, and he unfolded his legs from where they had been pulled up close to his torso, splaying them open once more in front of him.

“Then proceed.”

Kirk laughed at the bland tone of his voice, but Spock paid it no heed as the fingers returned to their original position, smoothly penetrating tight flesh. The discomfort was gone now, but as Kirk pushed his knees back further, spreading his legs impossibly wide, Spock suspected what was to come and he tensed involuntarily.

This was what Kirk wanted, what he needed. If it would please him, Spock was prepared.

Spock only realized that he had closed his eyes when he was forced to open them again to see Kirk leaning over him, a startled look on his face and his robe spread.

“Spock? You’ve…done this before, haven’t you?”

His voice was hesitant and concerned, and Spock was reminded, again, that this was Kirk, a man who saw to the very core of him. It would do no good to mislead him.

“Negative. However, if you wish it—”

Kirk shook his head quickly.

“No. Here, let’s try this.”

Kirk shed his robe before pressing himself against Spock’s opening. Despite Kirk’s words, he expected penetration, and when it did not come, was in fact substituted by a gentle pressure not unlike the touch of Kirk’s tongue from earlier, he was surprised.

Kirk smiled at him and rocked against him gently, his hard shaft sliding easily between his cheeks and just barely brushing Spock’s sensitive opening; the stimulation made Spock’s breath catch, as did the gentle caring with which Kirk moved. He must have felt urgency, but Kirk did not show it, simply closing his eyes before dropping one of Spock’s legs to touch the firm flesh between them.

Spock welcomed the touch and he returned it by clenching his thighs, giving Kirk the pressure he needed. His thrusts became erratic and the jerking motion of his hand more so, but although Spock felt his body tense in preparation for climax, he focused on Kirk’s face rather than lose himself to the sensation. Kirk’s face, which reflected love.

When he came, it was with a quiet moan, and with his eyes open as he pulsed hot semen against the crease of Spock’s backside. Spock watched the display with rapt attention, and when he too had shuddered in release, Kirk collapsed against him.

“See? Nothing bad.”

The voice was sleepy, oddly so, and Spock looked at him. Kirk watched him with eyes that drooped inexplicably, and Spock recalled that most humans found sex relaxing; although Spock did not share this intense reaction, he had to agree, and he regretted that he was required for his shift in just a few short hours.

Spock, perhaps illogically, wrapped his arms tight around Kirk, thanking him, silently, and cherishing him as openly as he dared.

“No, Jim—nothing bad.”

Kirk breathed deeply against his neck, and Spock noticed that he did not seem to care that they were messy and that this would only become worse as time passed. Spock found, at the moment, that he did not care either.

“Love you.” It was whispered across his skin just before Kirk’s breath evened out, and Spock swallowed, arms tightening just slightly.

“I love you as well.”

The admission was whispered softly against a human ear, and Spock lay in bed, awake and aware, until his internal clock told him it was time to begin his morning routine. Then—quietly—he slipped out of bed and through their shared bathroom.

********

When Kirk reported to the bridge later that morning, it was to the muted greetings of his crew and the sight of their heads burrowed almost impossibly into the crook of their arms. Such a posture was unbefitting an officer, of course, but Spock—perhaps due to some recently found sympathy of the effects of alcohol—said nothing.

Kirk did, of course, and there was a chorus of groans following his cheerful “Good morning, crew!”

Spock turned, very slowly, from his science station, face carefully neutral. He didn’t miss the way Kirk looked at him with a hesitant smile, clearly not knowing how to proceed after the events of this morning. The confession of love, although issued sleepily, had been real, and Spock realized with some surprise that he had not heard him return it; his reaction, then, was uncertainty.

Spock never wanted him to be uncertain again.

“Good morning, Captain.”

The resulting smile was blinding, and Spock turned back to his work, certain that it would remain to warm the air around him.

********

End


End file.
